(AN: As much as I love reviews, don't tell me to lay off The Dragonborn and the Lioness. It's almost 100 chapters long, I've poured so much thought and research into it, it wouldn't be lying to say that it is an epic and it deserves to be finished! And please don't diss Skyrim, it's an amazing part of the Elder Scrolls series and the Dwemer prove the Doctor's philosophy of "killing God makes everything better" wrong. They're a "free thinking" and "intellectually advanced" race, yet they believe in slavery, racism and genocide. That's one of the reasons I wanted to go ahead with The Doctor in Tamriel, to see what he would do if faced with the Dwemer. Personally, I think he'd try to cover it up and tell Clara to never mention it again that his philosophy is flawed, just like people do in real life. I'd want him to be personally responsible for the disappearance of the Dwemer, but if he really just lets them explore the stars [like my brother and a lot of other Elder Scrolls fans believe happened to the Dwemer when they disappeared], then he's done wrong in that he's let a technologically superior war-like and racial-supremacist race free to terrorize their part of space [you know, like the Daleks]. But if he destroys them all [as I think is what happened when they uncovered the Heart of Lorkhan], then he's done exactly as with the Timelords, broken his whole anti-genocide statement ["look up genocide in the dictionary. there's a picture of me that says 'over my dead body'"], and of course the fan-girls would be upset because the Doctor committed genocide, even though he did commit double genocide in the Last Time War with the Timelords and the Daleks, but apparently that was warranted.)
(You know, sometimes I wish I were a writer on Doctor Who, because I just came up with a really interesting and morally complex story for a Doctor Who cross-over, not just "companion loves the Doctor, TARDIS is jealous, The Doctor has feels, Isn't he quirky?" And I bet I could do more too! But then again, seeing how he snubbed the 8th Doctor, Mr. Moffat probably hates Americans and anything to do with them, which is why he made it that the Doctor can never return there ["The Angels Take Manhattan"] :p Now at the risk of sounding hypocritical, I am building up something in this story, one which may have Clara question [again, since The Doctor in Tamriel has already happened in my Who fanon timeline] whether the Doctor always knows best. Everything so far has been either fan-service or tackling the nitpickers of Tolkien's epic, but I think I can get all of them in this story [it's just going to probably take more than thirty chapters, lol])
A Knife in the Dark
"Help!" Merry groaned. "I've fallen into cold water!"
So it was when the Doctor, Clara and Aragorn found him, led there by Barliman Butterbur's Half-ling underling Nob, who had found him in a dark alley. Frodo had asked to join them, but both Aragorn and the Doctor insisted that the best place for him right now was to stay in-doors. When they found him, he was lying on his back and muttering something about black horsemen at the gate. He looked at Aragorn in distrust for a moment until Clara and the Doctor assured him that he was on their side.
"Have they entered the town already?" Aragorn asked.
"I think so," muttered Merry.
"But what about Frodo's accident?" Clara asked.
"That hasn't happened," the Doctor replied. "That's been changed."
"But then why are they here?"
"See?" Merry said, turning to the Doctor and Clara. "This wouldn't have happened if we took my advice and went through the Old Forest."
"No, you'd just get eaten by a tree," the Doctor replied.
"That is a perilous road, Master Merry," Aragorn said. "There is much danger in the Old Forest, and just beyond lie the North Downs. Long have the Rangers kept watch on those lands, protecting the people of Buckland and Bree from foes which would freeze their very blood."
"Yes, and I kept you from going there," the Doctor added, a smile splitting his face.
"But what about the Black Riders?" Clara asked. "They're hot on our tail."
"Then we leave tonight," the Doctor said. "Those in Bree who are on their side have told them possibly where the Hobbits are staying, but they don't know yet if these have the Ring. Now, Clara, I want you to go back to the inn and get the others ready." He turned to Aragorn. "You, which direction were you planning on taking them?"
"East, but not by the main road," Aragorn replied.
"Good, can you travel fast by night?"
"Not indefinitely."
"Don't worry about light, though," the Doctor said, patting the pocket which held the sonic screwdriver. "We'll just run back to the inn, pay for our rooms, even though we never really used them, and take off into the night before anything happens which might draw attention."
They left Bree that night, the Doctor and Aragorn leading Clara and the Hobbits in the front as they passed into the darkness of the forests east of the town. They did not stop, though weariness slowly began to creep up on them as they passed beyond the hours of midnight. Both the Doctor and Aragorn urged them onward. Though they heard no cry and saw nothing behind them but the shadows of trees, all of them feared that pursuit was not far behind.
As the hour of one was approaching, Aragorn suddenly came to a halt. The Doctor turned to him and halted, while Clara finally managed to catch up to both of them.
"Need a rest?" the Doctor asked.
"I am a Ranger," Aragorn replied. "I can go many days without rest when pursuit is nigh, but I cannot find a path into the wild under a night-sky without moon or stars to guide me."
"Not even with this?" the Doctor pulled up his sonic screw-driver and pressed it on, flashing its emerald light. It flickered for a moment, then suddenly went out.
"Doctor, what's happened?" Clara asked.
"My sonic screwdriver!" the Doctor exclaimed, shaking it about in his hand. He pressed a button but it did not respond. He shook it about again and whacked it against his thigh, but nothing seemed to be working. "It can't be out of power!"
"Can't you recharge it?"
"Not without the TARDIS, I can't," the Doctor replied, stowing the malfunctioning sonic device into his pockets then turning back to Aragorn. "Well, it appears that we might be stopping for the night after all."
"It is a good thing your wand faded when it did," said the Ranger. "That bright light is sure to attract attention."
"Can they see?" Clara asked, looking both at the Doctor and Aragorn in the dark. "The Black Riders, I mean."
"They do not see as we do," Aragorn replied. "They live ever in the realm of shadow, where we are but dim and flickering shades. We are vulnerable to them in the night, which is why I agreed that we should press on. We're still far too close to Bree for my liking. But they have other means of sensing our presence."
"Such as?"
"Their horses can see," Aragorn continued. "And there are many in Bree who cannot be trusted. Furthermore, the Enemy has many spies in his service. And, of course, they are drawn to the Ring."
"What do you know of it?" Frodo spoke up, as the Hobbits now approached the three Big Folk. Frodo stood aback as he heard Aragorn speak of the Ring.
"Fear not, Frodo," Aragorn said. "I am on your side."
"How do we know?" Frodo asked. "Sam thinks you might be an imposer who's killed the real Strider and donned his clothes."
"Did he really just say that?" Clara whispered to the Doctor.
"There's more to that letter, you know!" the Doctor interjected, practically bounding in between Frodo and Aragorn.
"Really?" Clara asked. "We don't have time for reading, and in case you haven't noticed, it's dark!"
"Not to worry, Clara," the Doctor said confidently. "I think I might just have the proper thing for it." At this the Doctor lifted up his right foot and removed the bottom of his loafer.
"What, are your shoes..."
"'Bigger on the inside?'" the Doctor finished. "Clever, but not exactly. Theodore Roosevelt gave this to me during my ninth incarnation. I saved his life at the Battle of San Juan Hill, he said it was the least he could do." The Doctor then pulled something out, which none of them could see in the darkness. A few moments later, they heard the scratching sound of a flint-stone striking a rock, and then the Doctor held aloft a make-shift torch in one hand while he stowed Roosevelt's flint in one of his pockets.
"There," he said, holding the small torch up triumphantly. "That should give us a little light. Well, go on then, Frodo. Finish the letter."
In the light of the torch, Clara saw Frodo unfurl the letter and pick up from where he last left off.
"There seems to be some sort of poem written here," he said. "Do you want me to read it, Doctor?"
"Yes, please."
All that is gold does not glitter
Not all who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither
Deep roots are not reached by the frost
From the ashes a fire shall be woken
A light from the shadows shall spring
Renewed shall be blade that was broken
The crown-less again shall be king
"Didn't Arwen say that?" Clara whispered.
"No," the Doctor dismissed quietly. "Actually, it was Bilbo who wrote those words."
"How does this help us, Doctor?" Frodo asked.
In the dark there was a ring and then the light of the torch flickered across a sword-blade that seemed broken at the end. It was held in Aragorn's hand.
"Here is the Blade that was Broken," Aragorn said. "And I am Aragorn son of Arathorn: those words concern me. The Enemy seeks the Ring, Frodo, and whether by life or by death I can hinder it, I will."
"Yes, yes, very good!" the Doctor exclaimed. "But, as our brave and heroic guide cannot find us a path in the dark..." He then reached up and pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket, giving it a furtive look of disapproval. "...my sonic screw-driver's not working, we'll have to spend the night. So, as usual, I'll stand guard, the rest of you rest up, hmm?"
Less than three days had passed since they left Bree, but they were going as fast as ever with the Doctor in the lead. Aragorn strode at his side and, Clara noticed, they talked a lot among themselves, though she noticed that her name was rarely mentioned. Whether that was good or bad she couldn't decide. She was, more than ever, focusing entirely on keeping up with them. While her bleeding eventually subsided, they both seemed tireless.
It was the evening of the fourth night since they left Bree when they once again made camp. As usual, the Doctor kept watch since he did not need to sleep. Despite Aragorn's insistence that he could keep watch for the night, the Doctor assured him that he would be fine and that he, Aragorn, needed to get some rest.
"You will be needing all your strength for the road ahead," the Doctor said.
One by one the others drifted off to sleep, but Clara seemed unable to sleep and so tossed and turned in her little jacket. About midnight, she saw lights in the north-eastern sky like distant thunder. The Doctor was near at hand, sitting cross-legged with his eyes gazing out towards the lights.
"Doctor?" she asked. "What's that light in the distance? Is a storm coming?"
"That's another one!" the Doctor said, amused. "'They're on the move', 'He's out there somewhere', 'A storm is coming.' Such melodramatic words for the real hard truth of the seasons of war."
"Huh?"
"Oh, nothing," the Doctor replied. "Just musing about things I've witnessed in my life."
"But that light," she said. "What is that light?"
"Fire on Amon Sul," the Doctor said.
"There's fire on Amon Sul?" she asked. "Uh, this may seem like a silly question, but why is there fire on Amon Sul?"
"Because they got there ahead of us," the Doctor said. "They've attacked Crickhollow while we were fleeing through the wilderness and now they've gathered together under their dark lord. And no question is silly: questions are what make this whole universe work. My life would be rather boring without questions."
"Wait, what do you mean dark lord?" Clara asked. "I thought Sauron was..."
"Not Sauron, the other Lord of the Nazgul," the Doctor said. "In life, he was Er-Murazor, a sorcerer in the ancient land of Numenor, until he received one of the Nine Rings and became chief of the Ringwraiths. After Sauron's defeat, he moved north, where he became known as the Witch-King of Angmar."
"The one that Eowyn killed?" Clara asked. "Oh, wouldn't it be fantastic to meet her? I bet we could."
"Yes, we could," the Doctor said, but his voice was now distant. He spoke as one who realized too late a critical flaw that was somehow overlooked.
"Doctor, is something wrong?" she asked again. "You said that fire means they've gotten ahead of us, with that...Witch-King bloke."
"Oh, that's no cause for alarm, not yet at least," the Doctor replied. "Because someone else got there first, someone who's giving them hell for all of us."
"Who?"
"Not me, Gandalf."
In the morning they set off again, making steadily north-eastward. After three more days of seemingly endless trekking, the land opened up around them and they saw that they were on a large plain of rolling hills, dotted with old ruins long stripped of any inclination of who owned them before they fell into such ruinous decay. On the top of one of the hills was a ruined tower. Far behind them was the East Road, winding along its path towards where the plains slowly began to fade into forest.
"There it is," the Doctor said. "Amon Sul in the Elvish tongue, or Weathertop to me and you."
"You know this land very well, Doctor," Aragorn said. "Perhaps I should defer to you regarding our next move."
"Nonsense," the Doctor laughed. "You're a..." But the Ranger gave the Doctor a stern look, which caused him to stop mid-sentence. "A...a...a skilled ranger, who has walked this land for many years and knows it very well. Me? I'm just the Doctor."
"Maybe we should make for that high hill," Frodo spoke up, pointing towards Weathertop. "Perhaps Gandalf is waiting for us there."
"Bad idea, Frodo," the Doctor said in an aside.
"Yeah, you should listen to him," Clara added. "Very bad idea."
"Why is it a bad idea?" Frodo asked.
"It is unlikely that Gandalf is still there," Aragorn said. "Or that he ever was there. But if he was, he may have left some sign to indicate that he was there. And I have not forgotten the fire we saw on the night of the third."
"Still, this is not a good idea," the Doctor added. "Weathertop is very open. It will be easy for pursuers to mark us from the top of the hill."
"Are we still in danger?" Pippin spoke up. "I thought we had left pursuit behind in Bree."
"That is even less likely than meeting Gandalf at the top of the hill," Aragorn added. "Nevertheless, we must see if he was there."
"Then I'll go," the Doctor said. "I'm as close to a wizard as you lot have, and I've had to sneak my way into tighter spots than this."
"I'm going with you," Clara added.
"What about us, then?" Frodo asked.
"We'll make camp towards those trees," Aragorn said. "It's far too open on these plains."
The Doctor and Clara then swiftly made their way towards the high hill of Weathertop. They were about half-way there, with the hill looming up before them, when Clara finally caught up with the Doctor.
"I thought," she panted. "That Aragorn would...have us camp here...at the foot of the hill."
"Horrible idea, all from that New Zealander," the Doctor added. "Good bloke, by the way, I won't lie, but he botched this whole ordeal up entirely. No one in their right mind would camp on the hill of Weathertop, seeing how it's so open to the countryside."
"But what will we...oh, bollocks!" Clara exclaimed, brushing hair from out of her face, picked up by the wind as they were nearing the hill. "What will we find up there?"
"Battle scars, nothing more," the Doctor added.
"You, Doctor, are impossible!" Clara breathed. "You've come the same way I have and..." She sighed. "...you're not even panting!"
The Doctor held his tongue, but his snickering came out as three chuckling sniffs through his nose. He quickly composed himself, thinking rather on how he would keep them from being spotted at the top. "Running is something I'm very good at doing."
They then went on up the hill-side, but they had not gone far when the Doctor suddenly stopped and turned around, coming back down towards Clara.
"Doctor, what is it?"
"We're too late," the Doctor said. "They're here, on the East Road."
"Who?"
"The Black Riders," the Doctor added.
"I thought they saw their camp-fire," Clara stated.
"Absolute rubbish," the Doctor dismissed. "They knew better than to camp on the hill, they camped in the glen, just as Aragorn had suggested."
"But what about their fire?" Clara asked. "Wouldn't that draw attention to them?"
"That was actually Aragorn's idea," the Doctor said. "And it's not that bad of an idea. The Black Riders' cloaks can get burned, and they'd be weaker without their robes."
"Then it sure is a good thing you remembered Roosevelt's flint like you did," Clara added.
"Yes, I know," the Doctor replied. "Now come, we've got to find the others before it's too late."
When they arrived at the camp, set up in a glade that dipped into a small pit surrounded by trees, they saw that the others were very much alive and well. The Doctor told Aragorn of what he had seen, and the Ranger immediately set out to gathering wood for a fire. The Doctor and Clara helped him with his search and, once the darkness began to fall, they had fire to keep them warm and to dispel the growing gloom in their hearts. For even though they saw nothing as of yet coming out at them from the dark, all of them had the distinct feeling that they were being watched from the shadows.
"Will they attack us?" Frodo asked.
"That's quite a possibility," the Doctor said. "Though I hope Clara and I left Weathertop fast enough."
"Did you see them on the road?" Merry asked.
"No, the Doctor seemed to know that they were coming," Clara replied.
"Well, what if it wasn't them?" Pippin added.
"Oh, it's them alright," the Doctor assured him, which made Pippin frown.
"Keep the fire going," Aragorn said to them. "And keep your backs to the flame. We're running low on fire-wood, I will go and get some more."
"Wait, Strider!" Frodo interjected. "Don't go!"
"You have him with you!" Aragorn said, gesturing to the Doctor. "You will be safe." With that, the Ranger turned about and vanished into the darkness.
"Wait!" Clara called out after him. "What about their weapons?"
"Weapons?" Merry asked.
"Yes, isn't he supposed to give you guys weapons or something?" she asked. "How does he expect you to defend yourselves without any weapons?"
"With me," the Doctor said triumphantly. "Swords are just like guns, only honorable and messier."
"But didn't he give them swords?" Clara asked the Doctor.
"No, they got those from somewhere else," the Doctor said. "All the more reason not to go that way. Anyone who promotes violence for whatever reason is absolute rubbish. And may I be stricken down by lightning were it otherwise."
"But the Black Riders have weapons, don't they?" Clara asked. "I don't think they're going to abide by your wishes."
"So?" the Doctor asked. "I'll die, but at least I'll have the moral high ground. Oh, if you want to wield a weapon, that's your own choice. I can't force you, I can only advise."
"Well, then, Doctor," Clara said, looking out at the lip of the bole. "I suggest you start advising us what to do, because I think I just saw a shadow move over there, between those trees."
"Around the fire, do as Strider said," the Doctor said to the Hobbits. "Clara, join them."
"What are you going to do, Doctor?"
"Talk to them."
"Talk to the shadows?" Sam asked. "Are you mad?"
"Let's hope so," the Doctor said with a confident smirk as he strode forward, stepping between the Hobbits and the darkness.
"Alright, listen up, you Nazgul!" the Doctor began. "You Black Riders, you Ringwraiths, you black-robed invisible bogey-men! I've already told you that what you seek is not here! But if you really feel like seeing for yourselves, well, unfortunately for you, I am standing in your way. And in case you don't know, I've stopped armies dead in their tracks at the very mention of my name. I make your Dark Lord Sauron seem like a school-yard bully! So ask yourselves this, are you really going to face me? Because if you are...well, here I am, come for me then!"
There was silence for a space as the wind gently howled through the trees before the Doctor. Behind him the sounds of the Hobbits breathing, soft yet fearful, rang behind him along with Clara's steady, evenly paced and unperturbed sighs of breath. Suddenly there was a voice heard from out of the darkness: high pitched which sent icy chills down their spines.
"He lies!" the voice said. "Kill the blasphemer! Kill the heathen who dares to speak the name of the Lord of Mordor!"
Five figures, hooded and cloaked in black as pitch-dark as the night around them, strode out into the flickering light of their fire. In the dark there was heard the ring of swords being drawn from their sheaths and, in the light of the camp-fire, the swords could be seen leveling at the Doctor.
"Doctor, what's going on?" Clara asked. "Why is everything so cold?"
"Just hang in there, Clara," the Doctor said. "Take a log from the fire."
"Okay," she said.
"Slowly, very slowly!" the Doctor replied.
"Surrender the Half-lings!" one of the shadows spoke.
"There's nobody else here," the Doctor said to them.
"Your lies fall on deaf ears, meddler!" hissed the darkness.
"Clara, do it! Now!" the Doctor exclaimed.
Suddenly a fiery blaze erupted as Clara waved a burning branch between the Doctor and the advancing shadows. The swords fell backwards, but then there was suddenly a loud screech and Clara fell to the ground, the burning branch flung from her hands as they scrambled to cover her ears. For what felt like the first time in her entire life - before and after she had met the Doctor - she felt fear: true, genuine, paralyzing fear that made her want to curl up into a ball, close her eyes and weep and shake until the morning came.
But then another blaze erupted as a tall figure strode towards the shadows, waving a branch at them. But this figure did not collapse before the power of their voices. In fact, the shadows began to fade and retreat back into the darkness. One by one they departed until the bole was free of them. Clara slowly lifted up her head, removing her hands from off her ears. The light of her fallen brand and the one held in the tall figure's hand revealed her rescuer to be Aragorn. She looked back at the fire and saw the four Hobbits huddled against the fire, stricken with fear. Then she saw on the ground, lying a little bit across from her the Doctor. His jacket had been pushed back and his hand was on his white pin-striped shirt, a small dark patch gathering upon it.
The Doctor had been injured during the attack of the Black Riders.
(AN: Ugh, I hate that line "not all who wander are lost." I'm sure somebody will tie it in with Doctor Who, but that obviously won't be me. I had to put it in there to build up for the sword. Speaking of swords...lol, I wonder how it would sound if I went movie-verse during the Council of Elrond [I won't, btw] and had them all do the "You have my..." What would the Doctor say? "You have my...sonic screwdriver?" "You have my...banana?" or, if it were the Fourth Doctor, "You have my...jelly baby!"?)
(-sigh- Just had to throw in some silliness, since I'm obviously going straight ahead with the dramatic part of the story. Sorry this chapter took forever to come out. I have a dozen more ideas I want to flesh out more than Companions/Dawnguard/original subplot of The Dragonborn and the Lioness, the Doctor in Middle Earth or Tamriel and Wicked meets The Big Bang Theory, I just really didn't want to write anything. But I sucked it up and wrote something.)